Anonymous

On Saturday night, in that same week, Harold sallied forth at dusk, with a bulky brown-paper parcel under his arm, containing a pair of boots which he was taking by stealth to a humble cobbler in a back alley to mend.

Just because he fervently desired not to meet anybody he knew, as he turned a corner he almost ran into the arms of May Burnside; who, on seeing him, appeared confused. He stopped and tried to conceal his parcel as well as he could, whilst talking volubly; and May stammered and fidgeted, like one detected in a guilty enterprise. Her aunt had that day presented her with half-a-crown; and, wishing to make a frock for Doris, she was on her way to buy some wonderful material she had seen marked fourpence three-farthings in a cheap, common shop she would not have cared to enter by daylight. Miss Waller would have fainted at the idea of her niece being seen going into Whittaker's, where everything was ticketed "Alarming Sacrifice!"

So, the boots weighing on his uneasy conscience, and the fourpence three-farthings on hers, they continued to blush and stammer until Harold summoned up courage to say that it was rather late, and, if Mrs. Burnside was going home, he would escort her, if she wished.

She hesitated, loth to lose the chance of bargain, and then said—

"My aunt is dining out, so I need not hurry back; and I wanted to go to a shop—Whittaker's, do you know it? I buy rubbish there occasionally."

He did know the shop, which was close to the alley wherein dwelt his old cobbler. "If you don't mind," he said eagerly, "I'll leave you a moment, whilst I do an errand hard by, and meet you when you've done your shopping."

So he went off, delighted at solving the problem of the boots; for no man appears to advantage when hugging a clumsy parcel. Having duly effected her purchase, May rejoined him, and, as they strolled towards Victoria Square, informed him that they were starting for London on Monday. "I know I shall hate it!" she added, with a sigh.

He sighed too; but what could he say or do, bound as he was, hand and foot? "July is rather hot for London," he answered discreetly. "Lulu wrote yesterday, and may I suggest, if you have leisure, she would be delighted if you called to see her? I will give you her address. The flat is very tiny, of course, but——"

"But infinitely preferable, I am sure, to Victoria Square!" retorted May bitterly. The burden of life seemed intolerable that evening.

"Are you, then, so unhappy there?" he asked, startled. "How I wish——"

He checked himself hastily, and May stifled a sob which rose in her throat. "Very few people are quite happy, it seems to me," she said, trying to speak calmly. "There is always something."

"Yes, but you—you ought to be happy, if there were any justice in the world!" he burst out impetuously. "You deserve a sunny, sheltered life, free from worry and care. Will you believe it is the hardest of my trials to be able to offer you nothing but barren sympathy?"

"It is very good of you to sympathise with me," May murmured gratefully. "So few people do. They look at my clothes, and decide that anybody dressed as I am, and living in Victoria Square, must be happy. 'Lucky Mrs. Burnside!' they call me."

He remembered how enviable, in the early days of their acquaintance, May had seemed to him, and thought how mistaken are the judgments of this world. A great pity swelled his heart as she said "Good-bye"; and he tramped back to his dreary rooms doubly depressed, both on her account and his own. How he longed to be able to free her from her shackles, and offer her a happy home, independent of Miss Waller!

"I must say, May, nobody would think you were going to London to enjoy yourself. Do, for goodness' sake, try to look a little more cheerful!" said Miss Waller sharply, as they took their seats in a reserved first-class carriage on the Monday. Mr. Lang, to May's great relief, had returned to town three days before, so they were spared his company. "You are the most ungrateful girl I ever knew."

"I'm sorry you think so, aunt, but——"

"It would serve you right if I washed my hands of you entirely," continued the irate spinster. "But I am too kind-hearted; my sense of duty restrains me. I should be better off now, if I'd been more selfish and less considerate for others. But I'm well aware it's useless to expect gratitude in this world."

And, with a heartfelt sigh for the wickedness of this generation, Miss Waller arranged the air-cushion more comfortably at her back, and, placing her daintily shod feet on the opposite seat, commenced to study a newspaper. May sat watching the deep-green summer landscape flit by, with pretty much the same feelings as a convict might experience while going down to Portland guarded by warders. The knowledge that Mr. Lang awaited them at the end of the journey took all the colour out of the blue sky; and the sleek cattle standing knee-deep in water beneath the willows, seemed to mock her by their animal freedom from care. For herself, she cared little; but there was Doris to consider, and the thought of her helpless child harassed her throughout that miserable journey.